


The Schrödinger Equation

by sksdwrld



Series: Planck Constant [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Schrödinger Equation describes how the quantum state of a physical system changes with time.</p><p>Or</p><p>Joe and Micah's relationship takes on a new meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Schrödinger Equation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothing_else_is](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_else_is/gifts).



> All the love for Miss Bekahrose who cheered me through this.

"What is this?" Joe asked, nudging the bundle of green stems on his plate suspiciously with his fork.

"Bacon," Micah responded seriously and Joe nearly choked on his own spit.

He glanced up to see Micah's grey eyes lit with amusement although his face remained neutral. "Wrapped around what, exactly?"

"Asparagus. You'll like it. Or, maybe you won't. A lot of people like it." Micah had yet to pick up his own fork and knife. He never did until Joe had taken his first bite. Joe let it go. It was enough that he was finally sitting at the table without looking like his plate would jump up and bite him.

"Willard liked it?" Joe casually asked, turning his knife toward the steak on his plate instead. The juices ran from the meat as he sliced into it and Joe's mouth watered. Micah had a gift in the kitchen and everything he made was delicious. The skirt steak in front of them could have been filet mignon. Still, he liked to tease Micah, who was forever plying him with vegetables and it had become a bit of a joke with them.

"No." Micah's full mouth pressed into a thin line. "Willard didn't eat pork, Sir."

"Right. Of course," Joe cut off a third of the asparagus and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "It's good but next time, leave out the greenery."

Micah made a small, indignant sound in the back of his throat and Joe started to laugh. There was a mound of creamy mashed potatoes on his plate and he ran his fork through them, shovelling a heap into his mouth. Only then did Micah pick up his utensils and begin paring his food into fastidious, little parcels which he ate neatly and quietly.

Joe finished first, he always did, and as soon as the last forkful was in his mouth, Micah was on his feet. "Would you like some more potatoes, Sir?"

"There's a lot, is there?" Micah took a pan from the back burner and removed the lid to show him. There was more than he needed but not more than he could comfortably consume and Joe offered, "Split it with you?"

"Oh no, Sir, I couldn't," Micah demurred and scooped it all onto Joe's plate. He placed the pan in the sink and returned to his place.

They finished eating simultaneously and Joe said, “That was really good. Even the, uh, veg.”

Micah’s lips quirked up and he heaved a satisfied sigh, pausing only a moment before getting up and beginning to clear the table. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joe watched him for a minute or two and then took himself to the living room. He was out of Micah's way there, but they could still easily converse through the cut-out in the wall as Micah finished up the dishes, if Micah was so inclined.

Usually, he wasn't but as Joe reached for the remote, Micah turned off the faucet and spoke up. "At the market today..."

"Yes?" Joe replied curiously.

Micah began again. "At the market today, I spoke with the girl who sells the special soaps. She gave me something that she said...that I thought...maybe you would like it."

Joe quirked a brow. _Special Soap_? "The hell do I need with some prissy-ass soap? The regular stuff works just fine."

Micah flushed instantly and lowered his eyes, stammering and murmuring apologies. Joe sighed and sat back on the couch. "What's so special about the soap, Micah?"

"Takes out the grease," Micah mumbled.

"From what, clothes? I told you I don't much care about that."

Micah frowned and looked away. "From hands, Sir."

Joe looked down at his own hands. The creases and fine lines were filled with grease that never scrubbed away and his fingernails were stained and dark. He was used to it by now, but he could see why it might bother Micah, who was meticulous about all things. He snorted softly. "Suit yourself. You want me to come wash my hands again?"

"It...might be better if you let me?" Micah offered. "It will take awhile."

"You gonna give me a manicure?" Joe laughed and Micah went redder. "Oh, Christ...Okay."

"If you don't want to..." Micah hedged.

"I said okay." Joe said. "I can put the tube on right? And I don't want you painting my fingernails or anything."

Micah wrinkled his nose and shook his head. Joe waved dismissively and punched the buttons on the remote. Shortly, Micah came into the living room and laid out a couple of towels, some flat brushes, and a very small bottle of thick, opalescent fluid on the old, scratched coffee table that Joe used to work on projects when he wasn't in the shop. Joe snagged it for examination when Micah went back to the kitchen. Then Micah returned, carefully carrying a bowl half-filled with water.

"Looks like expensive stuff..." he led. If this shit had cost a fortune, he was going to make Micah return it to the vendor. He didn't want to waste money on beauty products.

Micah took it gently back from him. "The sample was free. If you like it, I can work it into the budget."

Joe nodded in allowance and watched as Micah drizzled about half of the pearly soap into the water bowl on his lap. He swirled it gently with a finger and then looked expectantly at Joe. "Your hand, please?"

Fighting an eye-roll, Joe lowered his hand into the bowl which was actually, pleasantly warm and only slightly distracting from the TV program. Micah was quiet while Joe soaked and after several minutes, lifted Joe's hand free, patting the excess water off with one of the towels after moving the water aside. Micah worked surely (as was his way) and moved the brush in gentle swirls over Joe's skin.

There was something about the way Micah touched him—delicately, reverently, and as though he were something other than a dirty, unrefined mechanic—that made Joe's pulse quicken. Micah's fingertips danced over his own, smoothing away the traces of the bristles and leaving tingles in their wake.

Heat was pooling in Joe's groin and he shifted, trying to ignore it. He couldn't bring himself to look at Micah, who (Joe told himself) had no idea about the effect of his caresses. Micah dipped, brushed and wiped methodically and if it weren't so damn erotic, it might have put Joe to sleep.

Finally, Micah rubbed a fresh, dry towel over his palm and between his fingers, thoroughly drying him. "There," he breathed satisfactorily and Joe glanced down at a hand which no longer seemed like his own. The skin was clean, slightly tanned and his ragged nails were neatly rounded and only faintly grey. He rubbed his fingers over his thumb and palm, noting that his skin felt softer and less calloused. Comparing his right hand to the left, it was clear that the transformation was nothing short of amazing.

"Thank you," Joe sincerely said, reaching his hand toward Micah's shoulder and intending to give it a friendly and appreciative squeeze. Along the way, his hand veered off course. He cupped Micah's cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone as his fingers shifted behind Micah's ear, stroking his cropped, dark hair.

Micah stared at him for a moment, his expression one that Joe had never seen before, and then his eyelids fluttered closed. Micah tipped his head into Joe's palm and as Joe shifted closer, Micah's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching.

Micah would deny Joe nothing at the expense of himself and Joe knew this. It would be easy to take and though he had had the opportunity for months, he never had. He still wouldn't, unless... "Micah?"

Micah sucked in a breath and his lower lip wavered. "Yes Joe?"

"Do you want—?" _This? Me?_ Joe, never a man to mince words, suddenly found himself speechless. He ran his thumb over Micah's lips and they widened in accommodation.

Micah whimpered softly and as Joe was resolving to stop this, Micah reached blindly for him, his hands stopping short of touching but an invitation nonetheless. "Joe, _please_ …"

Joe surged forward, bending Micah back against the arm rest in his eagerness. Beneath him, Micah was hesitant and though responsive to Joe's kiss, had let his hands fall passively above his head. "Touch me," Joe said into Micah's mouth, loathe to pull away for even a moment.

Micah's hands jerked up in response to the command and hovered inches away from Joe's torso until Joe tore himself away from Micah's sweet lips with a groan. "Micah! Touch me, for fuck's sake. I want you to. I need you to."

Tentatively, Micah lowered one if his hands to Joe's bicep and the other moved, too damn slowly, to the nape of Joe's neck. That was so much better that when Joe kissed Micah again, he couldn't help but roll his hips against Micah's.

Micah moaned softly then turned his head as if he were embarrassed to have done so. His demure demeanor only fueled Joe's desire further. He wanted to make the man of many reservations come undone. Joe kissed Micah's eyelids, cheek, and neck and as he rolled his hips again and again, slid his fingers beneath Micah's shirt.

Micah bit his lip at first but then succumbed, the most delightful little noises of pleasure escaping him. His fingers found their way into Joe's hair, tightening and tugging needfully and he arched up beneath Joe, thrusting against his hip. "Ah, ah...no, please, I..." he tossed his head fitfully and his body tensed.

Joe slid his left hand free of Micah's clothes and cupped his face again, turning it toward him and he nipped Micah's lips before licking his mouth open again. Still, Micah held back even though he was panting and his hips were jerking erratically. Joe didn't know what Micah was waiting for; he ran his hand down Micah's torso and dug his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants. Micah's dick was hard and straining against his fingers and he jerked him roughly. "Come on, Sweetheart, give it to me."

With a cry, Micah stilled and Joe felt a warmth flood his palm. With a sense of triumph, he kissed Micah once more and then sat up. The towel Micah had used to dry Joe's hand was balled up beside them and he reached for it, using it to clean himself.

Micah's eyes slotted open and he glanced around dazedly. "That...you...I never..."

Joe gaped. "You never came before?" Surely that was impossible. Micah was going on forty and there was no way in hell Joe could even imagine such a thing.

Micah cleared his throat and looked down at himself, rearranging his clothes. "I _have_ …just... _alone_."

“So...you prefer alone?” Joe asked, imagining Micah efficiently taking care of himself in the shower as if it were just another ablution to be taken care of and not something to be enjoyed, because that was the way he was, taking pleasure in his service and not much else. He pushed the heel of his hand into his erection because it was still there, nearly painful with it’s insistent throbbing.

Micah’s eyes skittered around the room and when they finally came to rest on Joe, he gave the barest shake of his head and breathed, “No.”

"Me either," Joe agreed, popping the button of his fly and lowering the zipper. He pulled his cock out and stroked it once from root to tip, pausing as Micah stood, toed off his shoes and removed his pants. He tucked them over the back of the couch, doing the same with his shirt. Then, he dropped one knee onto the couch cushion and leaned toward the arm, bracing himself. The movement was with the same efficient grace that Micah did everything but lacked the desire he'd had only minutes ago. It could only be described as presentation, and it left a bad taste in Joe's mouth. "Micah, what are you doing?"

"Allowing you to make use of me, Sir," came the easy reply.

Joe wondered if there was any saving this situation before it went from bad to worse. He took a deep breath and reached for Micah's hip. "C'mere, Micah, and let me tell you something."

Micah frowned over his shoulder but turned, letting Joe pull him down beside him. "I've displeased you."

"No, Sweetheart," Joe said, touching Micah's cheek with his fingers. "You're just confused."

"You...don't want to make use of me?" Micah's frown deepened.

"No, Micah. I don't want to 'make use of you'. I _want you_." Joe said in earnest. He let his free hand trail down the column of Micah's throat and over his shoulder.

Micah swallowed thickly. "I...don't understand."

"Yes, you do," Joe prompted, leaning forward. His pressed a kiss behind Micah's right ear. "I want you, the way you wanted me. Not as a vessel to make use of, but as a person. I want to share an experience with you, not use your body as an extension of my hand."

"I..." Micah trailed uneasily.

"Here, let's try this," Joe interrupted. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes, of course," Micah replied immediately.

"But, do you want me to?"

"It's not my place to—"

"I _know_ , Micah. But do you want me to?" Joe paused, mouthing the shell of Micah's ear before moving on, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth. He felt Micah press closer to him and asked again, "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes..." Micah sighed and his breath warmly ghosted across Joe's lips.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Joe mumbled, hooking his hand around Micah's neck and tugging so that Micah's face tipped upward. Micah licked his lips. Joe wanted to lick them too, and when he did, Micah's hands slid off his own thighs, hovering uselessly in the air. Joe rolled his eyes and pulled them around him. Micah would learn in time .

It was not long, in fact, before Micah's hands were straying from where they'd been placed, running over Joe's back and down his arms, the feather-light touch raising goosebumps on Joe's skin. It was maddening, that touch, and it only made Joe want to ravage Micah more, to pin him down and press their skins together. He wanted to _know_ Micah with every part of him. Just now, he was mapping Micah’s body with his hands, learning every curve and swell and hollow and ridge.

Micah was sharp, bitable, grabbable angles covered with smooth, hot skin and Joe could not get enough. Micah let himself fall back on the couch and Joe rutted against him again, just to feel him writhe and hear his breathy sighs.

It still wasn't enough and quite honestly, now that Joe had caught a glimpse of how things could be, he wasn't sure it would ever be enough until he had Micah completely. But not now, not here on the couch where things would be uncomfortable and awkward and there was no purchase and he was too wound up to take his time. But pushing his cock against the soft skin of Micah's concave belly wasn't quite going to get him there either.

Joe pulled away and looked down at Micah, trying to come to a decision. Micah was flushed, his lips swollen and wet with Joe's spit. In his eyes, there was something other than his usual complacency and Joe could easily convince himself that it was hunger.

"Aren't you a hot little piece?" Joe murmured as he manuevered Micah's legs from beneath him.

Micah bit his lip, flushing darker as he drew his knees toward his chest. Joe glanced down, he couldn't help it, and ran his finger along the seam that split Micah. Shuddering, Micah closed his eyes and curled his arms around the backs of his thighs to hold himself apart.

Micah was so pliant and willing that Joe could have easily ravaged him. Instead, he untangled Micah's hands, pushed them away, and drew Micah's legs together. He pulled Micah's ankles against his right shoulder, squeezing his calves reassuringly. "It's okay Sweetheart. I just want your thighs."

Joe stroked the dark, downy hair that dusted Micah's legs before nudging the head of his cock into place. He canted his hips forward and a groan escaped him. The friction was glorious- exactly what Joe needed, and he let his eyes close as he picked the pace. Over and over, he drove into the tight crevice between Micah's thighs, losing himself to sensation. "Ah fuck, yeah! Fuck, yeah...Micah!"

It was not long before Joe's thrusts became shallow and erratic and soon he was stiffening and spending, the last minute pulses of his hips smearing come between them. He leaned his weight on Micah while he caught his breath and when he opened his eyes, he found Micah staring intently back at him. It was Joe's turn to awkwardly smile.

"Thank you," Micah said softly. Then, he lowered his eyes and began to dab at the mess with the towel. When he opened his legs to wipe between them, Joe saw that he was hard again. Before he could reach for him though, Micah sat up and slid away. He took the soiled towels to the hamper and dumped the bowl of water, only to come back with a fresh one. 

"I do have a functional shower," Joe chuckled, thinking that Micah meant to hand bathe him. 

"Yes Sir, I know," Micah said, kneeling at Joe's feet. "But we still need to wash your other hand."


End file.
